


and we have just one world; but we live in different ones.

by albion



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Ancient Rome, Brief mention of Cannibalism, Crusades, French Revolution, Historical, Historical Hetalia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi, Napoleonic Wars, Spanish Civil War, Thirty Years War, Time Skips, War, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 12:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/albion/pseuds/albion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Antonio and Francis and the history of Franco-Spanish relations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and we have just one world; but we live in different ones.

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, for all his eager cheerfulness and love of travel, can't bring himself to like Paris.  
  
Francis Bonnefoy supposes that really, he should be offended by that; his brother (of sorts) disliking his own capital, the city of love and centre of culture; but, truth be told, he doesn't like Paris all that much either. Being the Republic of France, he is forced to spend most of the year there, and sometimes it just aggravates him.  
  
So, every other summer that Antonio visits is spent in Lyon instead. The pretty little house that Francis owns there brings back many memories for both of them.

 

* * *

  
  
“Hispania, I’ve brought along a new province. This is Gallia. Play nice, will you?”  
  
Rome pushes the shy little girl towards Hispania. She is dressed in a long green tunic and her hair is long and blonde. Antonio bows awkwardly. He has never been around such a beautiful girl before and he has no idea about how to act. He feels his palms grow slightly sweaty, and he notices the girl's blue eyes regarding him carefully.  
  
“Salve!” says Antonio cheerfully. “My mother was a barbarian like you, but then Rome came along and brought civilization. Then they had me. I’m Hispania. You're a pretty girl!”  
  
The barbarian merely looks at him.  
  
“...I'm a boy.”  
  
  
  
Yes, Antonio thinks, they did have a rather interesting meeting. He laughs to himself, and Francis looks up from where he is examining the plants in the flowerbox hanging just outside the sunny window.  
  
“What is it, frère?”  
  
“Nothing, it is nothing.”  
  
  
  
“Oops!” Antonio had cried, flinging his arms around Gallia in an attempt of an apology, “I'm sorry! It's just... your hair is so long and-”  
  
Francis silenced him with a kiss. “Are we brothers now? Because when one greets a brother one must always give them a welcome kiss.”  
  
“I... I guess.”  
  
So they kissed. And when they broke apart, Hispania noticed how Gallia's eyes were slightly glazed over for some reason he could not understand.

 

* * *

  
  
The Holy Land is hot, stifling hot, and a cup of wine is high up on Francis' wish list, but he can't drink just yet. There have been reports that the Turks are nearby, and the last thing France wants is for Louis to hear that while Frenchmen were fighting and dying in the name of God, the embodiment of France was sitting in a tent drinking wine.  
  
He shifts uncomfortably in his armour, pulling at the collar in an attempt to fan himself. He is bored and lonely; most of the men who do not know his true status regard him as inferior; a boy, here in the world of men. He vaguely wonders how England is doing. England is even younger.  
  
A loud clatter and a muffled curse in a language that is clearly _not_ French brings him to his feet. He scrabbles wildly for his sword, before realising that it is not on his person, but all the way across the other side of the tent. Swearing loudly, Francis leaps for his weapon, only to fall short; flat in the dirt, with a very surprised looking Castile looking down at him.  
  
He jumps to his feet quickly, and slaps Castile around the arm.  
  
“Merde! I thought you were an infidel or something!”  
  
“Well, I'm not. Oh and sorry about the noise, I tripped over a tent peg and dropped my helmet.”  
  
France slaps his forehead. Castile is... lovely, he really is, but it cannot be denied that he is also an idiot.  
  
“Wait, helmet? Where are you going?”  
  
“I came to tell you. I'm going back home with Portugal for a while. Alfonso wants us to be there as we fight the Moors. Good nationalistic icon, he said.”  
  
Francis' face drops. Out here, Castile has been the only one he can really talk to. The Holy Roman Empire is a sullen boy, Armenia never speaks to anyone if she can help it (why a woman is even allowed here is the true question, but Francis does not want to offend her pretty eyes), and England is... well, England.  
  
Francis looks into his brother's face. Antonio doesn't look like Antonio. He is donned in armour made for a man, and his face bears scratches and bruises from past battles. They are not Rome's children anymore; he isn’t going to be there to protect them from every enemy that appears. Now they have to fight their own battles; boys pretending to be men.  
  
Antonio leans over and kisses Francis quickly on the cheek, before sweeping away with a mock bow. France follows him to the entrance flap, and does so just in time to see him blow a kiss to the sky. Shaking his head, Francis vanishes inside once more and fetches his sword.

 

* * *

 

  
_Dear ~~hermano~~ ~~Francis~~ France,_  
  
(the second part was in writing that bore an unmistakable similarity to Austria's)

 _I am most displeased and, I must say, offended at this treaty that you have signed with Sweden. It pains me to see you, my brother in Christ, making dealings with people who do not follow the ways of the Holy Catholic Church._  
  
(the writing changed)

  
_Ay, it hurts me to write such things. Francis, why? This is a war, a holy war, and I do not understand why you are offending ~~us~~ me like this. Ferdinand will take action, and while I may still have sympathy in my heart for you, the Holy Roman Empire does not.  
_

  
  
Do **not** offend me by attempting to write his letters, Austria.  
I care not for the Holy Roman Empire, that insolent child. Spain, don't betray your own stupidity.  
  
...How is Holland, by the way? I heard how he slipped from your grasp. Funny to think that a mere teenage boy could so easily revolt against the mighty Spain.  
  
  
(No letter arrived back.)  
  
  
Spain looks into the mirror that hangs in his dark chamber. Austria has left him to sort out some business, and he feels alone, so terribly alone. He doesn’t look like himself. There are shadows under his eyes and his hair is matted with sweat.  
  
He fingers the heavy key loosely in his hand. It had been the key to Holland's room.  
  
Snarling, he turns and throws it out the window to the stars, framed in the deep midnight blue of the night sky.  
  
  
  
Antonio hardly breathes a whisper at supper, when Francis places salad and wine and bread drizzled in olive oil on the table. They eat mostly in silence, listening only to the sounds of chewing and the pouring of wine.  
Francis wants to say something, but there is a nostalgic look in Antonio’s eyes and he knows when to let the other dwell in his memories.

 

* * *

  
  
There is a loud rapping at the door, and Francis can only find the strength to mumble a _come in_ , before he is slumped against the wall again, breathing heavily through what feels like a punctured lung.  
  
Antonio comes rushing in, tears filling his emerald eyes as he caresses his brother's face. His hands run through Francis' hair, around his neck, and eventually he pulls him in for a loose hug.  
  
“Hermano, hermano I… I can't… what’s happening to you, what’s happening to France? Marie? Louis?”  
  
“All dead;” the quiet whisper, “cut into meat.  
…tell me, Spain: have you ever tried human flesh?”  
  
Spain pulls back at the unexpected words just in time to see Francis sit up, a strange look in his eye. He pulls himself to his feet, breathing raggedly, and pushes Antonio aside.  
  
He can hear France's heartbeat, pumping erratically, and he wonders just how much a revolution affects a nation's health.  
  
“…the Bastille… they were blowing up parts of it. Fighting; killing, and I not knowing which side to support because they were all my children… _are_ my children.”  
  
“Oh Francis…”  
  
“And then! Then those revolutionaries drag me from my quarters, parading me around, saying that now I'm growing up, this is the true birth of France!”  
  
He stumbles out of the room and Spain runs after him, nearly falling over the collapsed Frenchman just outside the door. He grabs Francis' face and pulls him close, looking into the face of deprivation and insanity.  
  
“…Do you know how wondrous human flesh is, when cooked properly?”  
  
Antonio cries for France.  
  


* * *

  
  
“France,” Spain begins, grinding out the name like it was poison to his lips, “you are no longer my brother.”  
  
“I'm surprised it took you so long to figure that out.”  
  
“You… Napoleon…”  
  
“Don’t worry; I think you and Joseph will get along just wonderfully.”  
  
  
It is painful that night; France grabs Spain's hips hard enough to hurt and he enters without care; there is no tenderness in this bed now.  
  
Antonio wants to hate him, wants to hate the man who betrayed them all.  
  
But he can't. He can’t hate him because he still loves him.  
  
The realisation comes in a flash of nausea and he pushes the empire off him just long enough to bend over the side of the bed and vomit. Francis merely looks at him in disgust, crawls off the bed and leaves.  
  
  
(A few years later, Spain receives a short letter.)  
  
_Don Antonio Fernandez,_ (he did so like using their full titles)  
  
France has decided to invade Russia, the fool. He does not know when to stop. We all know how this will end.  
We have made a new coalition, the sixth coalition. Prussia, Austria, Sweden, Russia, Portugal, myself, and hopefully, you.  
  
Join us in bringing Napoleon down.  
  
With all confidence,  
Lord Arthur Kirkland  
  
(Spain joins without a second thought.)  
  
  
  
He wakes up crying, shuddering and gasping in Francis' arms.  
  
“Shh, frère, what is it? You have been strange all day and just… calm. Calm yourself.”  
  
“I had a dream. A dream of the revolution, and of your Napoleon, and…” Antonio breaks off with a fresh hiccupy sob.  
  
Nothing happens for the longest moment, before Francis takes his head and rests it against his warm chest. Antonio can hear his heartbeat, steady and sound, so different from back in 1789, and he cries, but not from sadness, from joy.

 

* * *

  
  
France knows how much a civil war can hurt.  
  
He knows, but he also knows how the best method is sometimes to leave things be. So when he hears of Franco and his rebellion, he says nothing.  
  
Though he does wonder, as he stares up at the night sky, which side Spain supports.  
  
  
Spain sits in his house with a glass of wine and waits for news. He waits for hours and hours on end, twirling a loose end of cotton from his shirt and cursing whoever promised him that a messenger would call at noon. Noon.  
  
Noon his _culo_.  
  
Eventually, at 7pm exactly, the telephone rings.  
  
He leaps up from his chair, not minding how it crashes against the stone tiles and presses the receiver to his ear.  
  
A light, cheerful voice: “Ve~ the lights in Paris look awfully nice with Germany's flags around them! You should come and see some time, fratello!”  
  
Another voice joins the first: “That potato bastard won't let him. Veneziano, get off the goddamn telephone!”  
  
Spain puts the phone down quietly and taps his fingers against the tiled counter.  
  
The fall of France, indeed.  
  
  
  
They decide to pack up their bags and head for the farmhouse in Provence. Antonio is mostly silent during the car ride, and Francis thinks about how distant he's been for the past few days.  
  
“Francis,” comes his voice suddenly, “are you still my brother?”  
  
Francis thinks, and suddenly it all comes together: Antonio's nightmares and his reminiscing, his general quietness.  
  
Francis laughs, and in that laugh rings a thousand years of war and peace and history.  
  
“Antonio. We have fought in the past and we have done terrible things to one another, but I have, and always will consider you my brother. Don't forget that.”  
  
Antonio cringes with embarrassment, and sinks deeper into the car seat.  
  
“Te quiero, Francis.”  
  
“You're an idiot, Antonio. Go to sleep.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on the song ‘Living in the Sky with Diamonds’ by Cobra Starship. The title comes from the song ‘Brothers in Arms’ by Dire Straits.
> 
> France doesn't like Paris:  
> I have heard from an increasing amount of French people that they do not like Paris, seeing it as a troll (especially the overrated Eiffel Tower.)
> 
> Roman Empire:  
> Gallia (most of what is now modern day France) was conquered by the Roman Empire, as was Hispania (Spain and Portugal). Spain's original inhabitants were 'barbarian', but the character of Spain is Latin so it is my belief that he is Rome and Iberia's child.  
> As for France… well, he's just a trap.
> 
> The Crusades:  
> The Second Crusade (1145-1149) was fought in the Near East as well as Iberia by the Kingdom of Jerusalem, the Kingdom of France, the Holy Roman Empire, the Kingdom of Portugal, the Kingdom of Castile, the County of Barcelona, the Kingdom of León, Armenia and the Kingdom of England against the Seljuk Turks.
> 
> Spain at this time was not unified, so Antonio only represents Castile (the largest county.) The southern part of Spain was in the hands of the Moors, and in 1147 the Reconquista was established. For the next 700 years the kingdoms in Spain and Portugal would drive out the Moors from Iberia. Antonio's king is Alfonso VII of León, and Francis' king is Louis VII of France.
> 
> Thirty Years War:  
> The Thirty Years' War was one of Europe's worst. The fighting was caused mainly over religion, with Protestant states against Catholic. France took a surprise move and joined the side of the Protestants, despite being mainly a Catholic country, because it was surrounded by territory owned by the dominant Hapsburgs (Spain and Austria and co.) and wanted to exert power over the weaker German states.
> 
> France and Sweden signed the Treaty of Bärwalde in 1631, in which France agreed to aid the protestant Swedes. The Ferdinand that Spain mentions in his letter is Ferdinand II, Holy Roman Emperor.
> 
> Holland:  
> Before the Thirty Years War, in 1568, the Seventeen Provinces of the Low Countries revolted against Philip II of Spain, the sovereign of the Hapsburg Netherlands. This started the Eighty Years' War, which ended at the same time as the Thirty Years War, with the Dutch Republic becoming recognised as an independent country.
> 
> The short scene with Spain and the mirror is set after the Thirty Years War, and Holland has left his house for good.
> 
> The French Revolution:  
> The French Revolution was when everything went a little crazy. France mentions the storming of the Bastille, and the executions of King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette.
> 
> France’s ramblings about cooked human flesh come from the fact that there were public roastings and other horrific executions of aristocrats during what a lot of historians like to call "the Reign of Terror". Whether or not these people were actually eaten is not certain, but political cartoons of the time certainly liked to portray it as so.
> 
> Napoleonic Era:  
> During the reign of Napoleon I, France built up a large empire in Europe. In 1807, Napoleon started the Peninsular War and invaded both Spain and Portugal. The Portuguese royal family escaped to Brazil but in Spain, Charles IV was replaced with Napoleon's brother Joseph.
> 
> The Spanish people fought for a long time, aided by Portuguese and British troops led by none other than Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington (the man who eventually defeated Napoleon with the Prussian general Gebhard von Blücher at Waterloo.) Napoleon himself described the Peninsular War as central to his final defeat, writing in his memoirs: "That unfortunate war destroyed me... All... my disasters are bound up in that fatal knot."
> 
> In 1812, Napoleon invaded Russia. Seen as one of Napoleon's greatest defeats, his Grand Armée had begun as over 400,000 frontline troops, but in the end fewer than 40,000 survived. The Sixth Coalition against France was formed in 1812-1813 between Austria, Prussia, Sweden, Russia, Portugal, Spain and Great Britain.
> 
> Spanish Civil War:  
> The Spanish Civil War (1936-1939) began as a rebellion by conservative generals led by Francisco Franco against the established Government. Britain and France had a policy of non-intervention in this war. It ended with Franco's victory and effectively knocked out Spain from participating in WWII. Franco, although a fascist, did not want to enter the war after seeing how Italy (under fascist Mussolini) became Germany's sidekick and puppet.
> 
> The Fall of France:  
> On 14th June 1940, Paris was occupied by the Axis Powers. Spain, being neutral, could not get involved in the war.
> 
>    
> I researched intensively for this fic to try and make it as historically accurate as possible, but I am by no means an expert on French or Spanish history, so my apologies if anything is off.


End file.
